


Pushing Buttons

by mickmess



Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: Gen, NASCAR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickmess/pseuds/mickmess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RATING: PG<br/>CHARACTER: Dale Earnhardt, Jr., Kyle Busch, Kyle POV<br/>COMPLETED: March 15, 2010<br/>This is based on a story I heard back around Halloween 2009.  Kyle Busch showed up at Junior’s motorhome asking for an Amp hat to complete Landon Cassill’s costume.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pushing Buttons

Summary: It’s just too easy.   
Up until the Richmond incident, he and I never really bothered with one another. Our social circles never really overlapped, our racing was light years apart, and honestly we just didn’t care. We didn’t hate one another, but we didn’t go out of our way to chat and play nice either. We were just two guys in the same line of business who every now and then butted heads. It all really escalated when I spun him out on the last lap and suddenly I was the scourge of the Junior Universe. Not like I care or anything. I’ve never cared what anyone thought about me. Cared even less what they said. I do and say what I want, no apologies. Besides, I’m pretty sure he got a kick out of the media blowout, just like I did. Of course, unlike Junior, I don’t know how to leave well enough alone. Bad attention is better than none, and it’s been that way my whole life. Fans may not like me, but at least they pay attention to me. I’ll take it any way I can get it. You can’t spend your life trying to please everyone. I’m not Jimmie or Jeff; I don’t revolve my days around trying to make the world happy. Kyle comes first. Always has, always will.

Up until this point, I’ve never run into Junior off of pit road- at least, not intentionally. This wasn’t even my idea; stupid Landon put me up to it. He wanted to dress like Junior for Halloween but couldn’t find a hat so we rock-paper-scissored for who would go to his coach and get one. After best five out of seven his paper beat my rock and I stormed off the coach. Of course, on the way over I started to think of all the things I could do to his coach if he weren’t on it. I’d love to see the look on his face if he came back from pleasing the masses and found shaving cream and toothpaste all over the place. With all that in mind, I knock on his door, hoping for no answer.

“Yeah?” The door swings open and my shit-eating grin falters as I come face to waist with Mike Davis. Dammit, foiled!

“Trick or Treat?” I shrug and smirk at him as he tries to wipe the shock off his face.

“We’re out of candy. Go bug your sponsors for more,” his tone is completely hostile and a thrill runs down my spine. Maybe I can get a good fight in tonight, if nothing else.

“Actually, I just need an Amp hat,” I try to keep my tone as sickeningly sweet as possible and I see the apprehension cross his face. I hold my hands out in front of me in a gesture of surrender, “Landon’s dressing as Junior for Halloween and he needs one, I’m not gonna make a voodoo doll or anything.”

Junior comes up behind Mike, asking who’s at the door, but stops short when he sees me, giving me the Earnhardt death-stare, “No Trick-or-Treaters over five, asshole.”

I slap a hand over my heart in mock pain, “Here I wanted to give you an olive branch and you’re turning me away!”

“Shove your branch somewhere dark and warm,” is Mike’s snide reply, the door already halfway shut when Junior’s phone goes off, distracting them both. I take the opportunity to barge onto the coach, shoving by them both.

“Hey, what the fuck do-” Mike’s cut off by a hand on his shoulder as Junior talks to whoever’s on the phone. The two share a look, Junior’s hand still tight on Mike’s shoulder as he disconnects his call.

“He’s legit,” Junior looks at me warily, “That was Landon begging me for a hat like a damn five year old.”  
I feign innocence, giving them the most angelic expression I can muster, “See? I told you I wasn’t lying!”

They exchange another look before Junior walks by me, purposely knocking shoulders with me. I don’t budge; just give him a smirk as he disappears into his room. Turn back to Mike, raising my eyebrows, “Gee, I guess he doesn’t like me very much, huh?”

Mike’s annoyed expression doesn’t falter, eyes narrowing at me in an attempt to intimidate me, I’m sure. Roll my eyes at him, taking a quick glance around the bus. Just as expected, the crown prince of NASCAR has amenities fit for royalty; flat screen LCD TV, expensive-looking computer, plenty of gaming systems. Everything is sleek and modern. Everything is also in shades of gray and orange. Can’t say I agree with the colors, but the overall feel of the place is pretty sweet.

“Here. Take it and leave,” out of nowhere a green hat is shoved into my face, “Tell the kid he can keep it.”

I grab the hat before it can hit the ground and with a devious smirk, I put it on my head. It’s a bit too big, but I keep it on, heading for the door, “Thanks, guys. I’ll be sure to take it off his hands when he’s done with it, burn it in some ritualistic manner fit for the crown prince.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” Turn in time to see the angry glint in Junior’s eyes, “Why do you have to have a remark for everything, huh?”

Shrug my shoulders flippantly, pulling the door open, “Because I know how much it pisses you off,” give him a wink and disappear off the coach, chuckling to myself over how easy it is to rile him up. Adjust the hat on my head and start my walk back to Landon’s coach, content with having one more tick in the win column against Junior. A win’s a win, after all, no matter how small it might be.


End file.
